


Baby, I Knead You (to butter my buns)

by KaiserNoire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Baker Keith, Brief mention of Allura because I love her, Customer Shiro, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Keith POV, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow burn? Kinda?, but that’s only bc they are dum dums, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserNoire/pseuds/KaiserNoire
Summary: Keith’s bakery is small, but it’s his. He’s not looking for fame or fortune; he just wants to make tasty things. But that all changes once his bakery takes off and then he’s busier than ever. Shiro’s just tasting the baked goods, but Keith definitely wants him to taste something else.“He asked for you.”Keith squinted. “He did, huh? Completely unprompted?”“Yep,” Romelle chirped.Keith and Romelle maintained eye contact as Romelle slowly walked toward Keith. Keith crossed his arms. Romelle reached out and swiped a cookie from the pan. Keith sighed.“Come on,” Keith said.“What?”“What did Muscles say?”“He asked if there was a schedule of when the pretty head baker slash store owner would be putting out macarons.”Keith smirked. He could see right through her. “He said that, huh.”“Verbatim.”





	Baby, I Knead You (to butter my buns)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anionna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anionna/gifts).



>   
> [Nieisha](https://twitter.com/illusorytactics) gave me such a wonderful prompt to work with! Bakery au had been on my To-Write list forever so I’m glad that she gave me the opportunity to do one. I love how this turned out!
> 
> Title by  
> [Zjo](https://twitter.com/zjofierose)! Blame her and  
> [Jess](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic)! I was peer-pressured into it!!!! (I love you both so much omg.)

The most basic of scone recipes include the following:

  * all-purpose flour 
  * granulated sugar 
  * baking powder 
  * salt 
  * unsalted butter
  * heavy cream



Keith knew this. Keith also knew that with this recipe he could make savory or sweet scones with just tiny additions. He knew that he needed to chill the butter before he started working with it to achieve his preferred scone texture. He knew a lot of basic recipes like the back of his hand. In fact, he could make scones in his sleep, if needed. (And some mornings, when he had been only partway into his second cup of coffee and pulling out his necessary ingredients for his first round of baking, he had in fact done this.)

But. One thing that Keith did not know was why, at 8:15 A.M., was his bakery case completely bare of the three dozen macarons that he had sleepy placed there that morning at 5:50 A.M.

Macarons weren’t a best seller in his shop. They weren’t even a staple in his shop. He had recently started offering them about a month ago on the request of his cashier/front of house host, Romelle. 

Romelle knew how impressionable Keith could be in the morning when he had been working on autopilot, and in her infinite chaotic-good wisdom she left the idea of macarons in Keith’s half awake mind. Then, before he knew it, he had made them. (By that point he actually started waking up and had been infinitely confused as to how he successfully made decent macarons in his sleep, but that had been a separate issue.) 

The macarons hadn’t been perfect, their cookie a bit too airy with a few more air pockets than he normally would allow, and they definitely hadn’t been perfectly circular, but Romelle had placed them in the chilled case anyway, against Keith’s recommendations. 

They sold. Not quickly, but they sold. And, since then, every single time that Keith made macarons they sold out completely. 

But, as Keith stared at the bakery cabinet at 8:15 on a Tuesday morning, phone pulled out as he took notes on what he needed to bake for his next wave, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. 

“Melly?”Keith called over the top of the cabinet. 

“Yeah?” Came Romelle’s voice from the small section of the kitchen that they used as a break room, and then Keith saw her blonde hair bob over to him. Today she had her hair pulled up in ‘space buns’ which Keith had been pretty sure referenced Star Wars.

“When did we sell out of the macarons?”

Romelle thought as she munched on a turkey and cheese savory scone that had become popular during their breakfast rush. “Six? No, seven-forty five.”

“Huh.” Keith tapped on the cabinet with the long metal spoon that he had shoved into his hair earlier that morning. He had originally been looking for a hair tie, but made due with putting his hair into a messy bun and shoved the long shaft of the spoon into said bun to keep it in place in a fit of frustration. He normally made sure to have a spare beanie at the store for the exact purpose of keeping his hair out of his eyes while working, but it had been too warm to think about wearing a layer on his head. “What flavor where they? Raspberry something?”

“Cracked black pepper raspberry,” Romelle supplied. “Didn’t expect them to sell so fast. Kinda sad that I didn’t put one aside, but Mr. McMuscles wanted the whole lot, so,” and she shrugged.

“Huh,” Keith said again as he tapped around on a document on his phone that held different flavor profiles. “Did he try one in store? How did he like it? I don’t think I’ve made that one before.”

“You haven’t. And that’s exactly why he cleaned house. His eyes went all sparkly! You should have seen him, Keith! He was actually really adorable with that dopey grin on his face. Men of his size have no right to look like an overexcited golden retriever puppy that early in the morning.”

“Mmmhmm,” Keith idly supplied as he listened to Romelle ramble. After he poked around on the document for a bit Keith looked at the case again, “So he didn’t try it,” he said more to himself than Romelle as he typed something into his phone. “You’ve mentioned him before. He comes in often, yeah?”

Romelle nodded in conformation as she polished off the last bit of her scone.

“Cool. Ask him how he liked them next time?”

“Roger!” And Romelle gave Keith an over exaggerated salute. “Though, I can basically already tell you that he loved them.”

Keith pulled his eyebrows together in confusion as he looked over at Romelle and started walking back to the kitchen.

Romelle over dramatically sighed, “You do know that he loves everything you make, right?”

“No, I can’t say that I do?”

“ _Keith_ , come _on_ ,” Romelle mock whined.

“ _Ma-melle, what_?” Keith mock whined back. 

“He has a crush on your baking or something. He’s here at least twice a week and buys an entire spread.”

Keith stopped in his tracks. “Oh, that’s cool,” and he shrugged as he started pulling out his supplies. 

“I swear! Someone needs to knock you on the head with a baking sheet at some point.”

“Why?”

“Because! You’re a culinary genius, but no one knows about you. And the one _really_ dedicated customer that you have can probably give you some insight into this market, but you refuse to talk to him!”

“I don’t refuse; I just don’t see the need.”

“Why!”

“One,” and Keith held up his index finger as he counted, “I don’t care if people know about me. And two,” and he held up his middle finger by itself, “My spreadsheets tell me what I need to know.” And then he picked up a large sifter. “Why would I talk to him if I probably have more information about this market than he does?”

“Ugh! You better sleep with one eye open, Kogane. I might just come at you with that baking sheet myself.” And Romelle stomped away to go reorganize the front of the house before the next wave of customers came in. 

“You now that you’re threatening your boss, right?” Keith called over the sound of the whirring industrial refrigerator, a teasing lit to his voice and a smirk that Romelle definitely could not see. 

“I can hear that smirk!”

Keith laughed as he shook his head and continued to sift flour. 

__________

“Kevin!”

“Ronald!”

“McMuscles just left!” Romelle called over the sound of the classic alternative-rock that played throughout the entire store. She pushed through the doors into the kitchen.

“So?” Keith said as he looked over his shoulder and pulled earl grey lavender shortbread cookies off the rack that they had been cooling on. 

“He asked for you.”

Keith squinted as he dusted off the front off his burgundy-red apron, “He did, huh? Completely unprompted?”

“Yep,” Romelle chirped.

Keith and Romelle maintained eye contact as Romelle slowly walked toward Keith. Keith crossed his arms. Romelle reached out and swiped a cookie from the pan. Keith sighed. 

“Come on,” Keith said. 

“What?”

“What did Muscles say?”

“Oh,” and Romelle broke the cookie in half. Keith had given up long ago trying to stop Romelle from swiping food. It just wasn’t worth his time and she damn well knew it. “He asked if there was a schedule of when the pretty head baker slash store owner would be putting out macarons.”

Keith smirked. He could see right through her. “He said that, huh.”

“Verbatim.” 

“I see. And you told him something, right?”

Romelle look scandalized, hand on her chest, a small fake gasp on her lips. “Of course I did!”

Keith couldn’t help but give a light chuckle to that and he leaned against the quartz stone counter. “Ok, how long do I have to prepare these spur of the moment macarons?”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Keith parroted back.

“Oh, excuse me. Every Saturday.”

“ _Every_ Saturday. _Melly, why_?”

“You’ll thank me!” She said over her shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen and back onto the sales floor. The front door had just chimed, signaling that a customer had entered.

“Maybe, but I’ll still complain about it!” Keith called after her. 

A day. 

One single day.

Keith had one day to prepare.

__________

Romelle was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because she took the brunt of the customer interactions so that Keith could focus on baking. A curse because she sometimes did chaotic things like promise a customer macarons. And have them available, not only the following day, but every Saturday. 

He wouldn’t change her though. 

At least, that’s what he kept trying to tell himself as he scrolled though his phone and poked at the tablet that he had mounted on the wall. 

Keith carefully went through his ingredient stocks on the tablet and scrolled though the possible flavor profiles on his phone. He chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated the info-dump that Romelle had provided during their two hour break in the middle of the day while the shop was closed to the general public. 

Romelle had mentioned that she had been able to talk with Mr. McMuscles for a bit that morning and, other than finding out that his first name was actually Takashi and that macarons were his favorite baked good, that he didn’t eat gluten. 

Which confused Keith a bit. 

“Doesn’t he buy a shit ton of stuff here every week?” Keith had asked Romelle after she delivered the news.

“Yeah, so I asked him about that. Says he buys them on behalf of his office. They like to keep the break room stocked with snacks.”

“Oh, that—” And Keith paused his typing. “That makes a whole lot of sense. Wait, how did you ask him?” The last thing that Keith needed was a complaint about Romelle being insensitive or too nosy.

“Bitch, I have tact.” She mumbled around the tester set of macarons that Keith had whipped up.

Keith gave a snort and then went back to typing, “You’re lucky that you’re my cousin.”

“You love me!” And Romelle gave him a pat on the head as she left him to his flavor profile prep.

The following morning Keith had six dozen macarons in the front case: three dozen rose water and three dozen peanut-butter maple bacon. With a half dozen of each put aside for Takashi. 

All things considered, Keith had been very impressed with his work. Especially when he saw Romelle duck her head into the kitchen to ask for his help to box up _all_ the macarons, except for the ones that had been put aside for Takashi. 

He grabbed his beanie off the coat rack and shoved his flour dusted hair into it before he slipped into the bustling storefront. And then he blinked. That had been a whole lot more customers than he had expected. 

All it all, it hadn’t actually been a lot of people, maybe six or so, but for Keith’s tiny bakery that classified as busy. 

Keith nodded to Romelle as he squeezed around her and she gave him a cheerful smile as she continued talking to the white haired lady in front of her. 

“You can thank him yourself,” Keith heard Romelle say and Keith snapped his head up in response. 

“Oh!” The lady with white hair as fluffy as clouds looked over at him and then clasped her hands together. “You’re Keith!”

“Yeah?” Keith said as he popped together a few matte black paper boxes that they used for the macarons, the name of Keith’s bakery, _Starlight_ , embossed in white with a single red star in the upper right corner.

“My best friend told me all about you guys! You are a complete life saver. I have a family brunch that I’m hosting in a few hours and these macarons are absolutely _perfect_.”

“Are you friends with Takashi?” Romelle asked as she started gently packing up the other part of the very large baked goods order.

The lady blinked for a moment, temporary confusion pulled at her perfectly manicured eyebrows, and then she beamed. “I am, in fact! I guess he wasn’t exaggerating when he said that he’s here often. I’m Allura, by the way.”

Romelle beamed right back at her. “Lovely to meet you, Allura. Yeah, Takashi is here twice a week.”

Allura made brief eye contact with Keith, smirked and grabbed the large bag that Romelle had offered to her. “I can see why. Thank you again for being such a life saver! I will surely be back.” And in a pale pink whirl of her high-waisted wide leg pants, she left. 

__________

“Kevin!” Romelle called to Keith from her place in front of the register, grip firm on the counter top as she leaned with her head tipped backward.

“Ronald!” Keith responded, not even bothering to leave the kitchen and the pile of ingredients that he had been rummaging though. 

“Your McMuscles just left! He was absolutely ecstatic about the P.B. maple bacon! He also mentioned something about loving floral flavors!”

“I’ll think about it, Melly!”

__________

“Kevin!”

“Ronald!”

“Your boyfriend loved the lavender earl grey macarons! He said he always wanted to try your shortbread versions but couldn’t because of the gluten! See, told you it was a good idea!

“I didn’t doubt you!”

“No, but you doubted yourself!”

“Whatever! Are there any left up there?”

“Nope!”

Keith paused his scrubbing. “He bought the entire dozen I made?”

“Yep!”

“Cool.” And then Keith resumed scrubbing the pot in his hand. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“He might as well be!”

__________

“Kevin!”

“Ronald!”

“Your boyfriend thanked you for the sample gluten-free cupcake!”

“What did he say about the flavor profile!”

“He didn’t try it, had to run to work, but he liked that you sprinkled pink Himalayan rock salt on top!”

“He noticed that it was pink Himalayan?”

“Of course he did, you doofus!”

“Cool.”

__________

Keith was good at math. He could do relatively complicated bits of it in his head in order to adjust recipes as needed. But he could not have calculated this. It had been a few weeks since Allura floated into Keith’s bakery and he had not known peace since. 

Romelle had (“accidentally”) found Allura’s Instagram and found the whole slew of pictures of the very lavish looking brunch that she had put on for her family. And there sitting on absolutely gorgeous silver platters and tiered serving trays were Keith’s baked goods, with the macarons throughly showcased in every single picture.

That had been on that Tuesday following Allura’s visit. And she, plus at least ten percent of her followers who lived in the area, had stopped in each Saturday since, absolutely clearing Keith out of macarons in a matter of hours. Keith had even doubled the amount of macarons the previous Saturday but they still ran out of stock way before the end of the day. Which, Romelle pointed out, had been a good problem. Keith just didn’t understand _why_. Why had it been Allura who had kicked off this boom? Why had it been _macarons_ out of everything else in Keith’s arsenal?

“It’s because no one else in about a 50 mile radius does _macarons_ , let alone any gluten-free baked goods.”

And now, on the third Saturday A.A. (After Allura), Keith’s head snapped up from the customer that he had been helping. After that first Saturday A.A., Keith had been helping Romelle up at the front of the shop every single Saturday, sometimes for the entire day. Which had been frustrating since Keith always tried to sneak away to the kitchen in attempt to bake _something_.

But today had been the first day that he had heard _that voice_. 

Keith knew that voice. 

It couldn’t be who he thought it was though. 

But then Keith saw the fluffy bangs and the incredibly broad shoulders; there had been no mistaking that profile. It had definitely been—

“Shiro,” Keith whispered to himself as he looked over the small sea of customers and watched as a tall gentleman located at the very back of the store, near the door, point at the signage that declared that day’s pastry lineup and macaron selection. 

Half distracted, Keith packed up a customer’s order and flicked his eyes over at Shiro as the man made his way closer and closer to the front counter, the line slowly dwindling. 

Then before long Keith said “What can I get you?” to all six foot-three of a man whom Keith had accidentally lost contact with when Keith had transferred into a different program during university. 

“Hey!” Shiro chirped and then flashed Keith a smile, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before? I’m picking up an order for—“

“Takashi!” Romelle cut in as she barreled through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, a whole new tray full of macarons in her hands. “Keith! Part of Takashi’s order should be in the bottom left of that case,” and Romelle pointed in Keith’s direction with her head, hands occupied with opening the chilled display case in front of her.

“So you’re the legendary ‘Keith?’” Shiro asked as he glanced at the display case that Keith pulled a black box, presumably full of macarons given the box style and shape, out of. It had _**Takashi**_ in a silver metallic Sharpie marker written across the side in Romelle’s bubbly handwriting. 

“No?” Keith said as he scrunched his eyebrows together, “I mean, I am Keith, but...” and he kind of trailed off as he popped the lid of the black paper box, which revealed an assortment of macarons.“Three of each flavor, right?”

 _Wait,_ Keith thought, _is Shiro actually McMuscles? Fuck._

Shiro nodded as he said a soft “Yep,” and then continued, “Romelle mentioned that you all have been super busy lately. I think it had been Allura who called you the ‘Legendary Defender of Tasty Gluten-Free Baked Goods.’” 

Keith couldn’t stop the faint blush that dusted his cheeks and he nervously tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to take off his beanie that morning, it had been that busy. Luckily, most of his hair had still be trapped in the stretchy knitted hat and off his neck. Keith loved his long hair, but hated when the wispy bits tickled his neck when he was at the shop. 

Keith let out a soft chuckle at the way he had been acting. “Yeah, in that case, I guess I am. Are you friends with Allura?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well, thank her for me, the next time you see her. Her Instagram posts are giving me more traction than I deserve.”

Shiro scoffed at that. “You deserve more, to be honest. All of the gluten-free testers that you have been sending my way are absolutely fantastic. Thank you for those, by the way. It’s been a long time since I have been able to enjoy actual baked goods. I can’t wait until those chocolate chip cookies become a permanent staple, I’m gonna get fat.”

Keith couldn’t stop the unexpected laugh that broke from his lips. “I think it’ll take a lot of my cookies before that’ll happen.”

“Oh, don’t challenge me. I can eat a lot.” 

There had been a teasing lit to Shiro’s voice and it sent a flood of warmth though Keith. _Was this flirting?_ Keith thought. _Probably._

“Well,” and Keith leaned into the feeling as he shifted his hip and rested it against the counter, crossing his arms in the process, “I never say no to a good challenge.”

“I look forward to getting very fat then.”

The smirk that pulled at Shiro’s lip was devastating and Keith thanked whatever deities existed that he worked well under pressure. He hoped the way that smirk affected him didn’t show on his face.

Keith laughed again, almost like a dog shaking to dispel nervous energy, and gently shook his head as he punched the order into the touch display of the register. “Anything else I can get you, Takashi?”

“Oh, god, please call me Shiro. No one calls me Takashi.”

Keith hummed and nodded in acknowledgement, “So that’s a ‘no’ on more legendary gluten-free baked goods, then?”

“Ow,” Shiro said as he clenched his heart with his hand, obviously being dramatic, “twist my arm why don’t you,” and it had been then that Keith saw the flash of silver and black from the sleek prosthetic of Shiro’s right arm.

 _Interesting._ Keith thought. 

“Sure, sure. Give me a small coffee and one of those Lava Cake cupcakes.”

“The gluten-free one, yeah?”

At Shiro’s nod, Keith quickly packed up the order and rang Shiro up. Before long Keith and Romelle had been able to clear up the rest of the line. Keith leaned against the back wall, right beside the door to the kitchen, trying to get a breather. He hoped that he could prep a bit before the next rush blew in.

“So,” Romelle dragged the syllable out as she saddled up to him, re-braiding her long ponytail. “I see you and McMuscles hit it off.”

“Romelle.” Keith breathed deep and closed his eyes. On the exhale he fixed her with a glare. “That was McMuscles?! Shiro’s McMuscles?!”

“Yeah?”

Keith groaned as he pushed his hands up to his head and yanked off his beanie, rustling his hair with one hand. “ _Melly_!”

“What!”

“Remember me telling you about Shiro? We met in university? The darling of the applied sciences department?”

“Yeah, you guys shared some gen ed courses, right?”

“That was him!”

Romelle crossed her arms and popped her hip, eyebrows rumpled. “Yeah, dingus. I know that.”

“You—” Keith’s eyes went wide as a realization dawned on him. “You _knew_? You did all that on purpose!” And Keith threw his beanie at Romelle’s face. 

“Of course I did! I remember you only ever calling him Shiro. Figured that you probably didn’t know his first name and that it would be easy to coerce you to talk to him at some point.”

“Why?” Keith dragged out the end of the word as he slumped against the wall even more.

“You _always_ talked about him! You _never_ constantly talk about people! You had a huge crush on him, didn’t you?”

Keith just dragged his hands down his face. 

“See! If you knew he had been coming in here then you would have accidentally sabotaged yourself! I did you a favor.”

“I—” and Keith stopped as he thought about it. Because yeah, Romelle had technically been correct. He probably would have just brushed Shiro off, like he did whenever anyone complimented him. And frankly Keith had nearly done that earlier when he and Shiro had been talking. If it hadn’t been for Shiro’s friendly banter and low-key challenge then Keith probably would have completely blown him off. “Everyone had a crush on Shiro from what I could tell.” Keith slightly redirected the conversation and Romelle just smirked. 

“Maybe so, but from what _I could tell_ , right now with _my very own eyes_ , it looked like he was flirting with _you._ ”

“He probably doesn’t even remember me.” Six years since they shared that class together had been a long time, after all. Keith definitely remembered his puppy crush on Shiro during his second year of university. They had an English Literature class together that neither had been excited about taking. But he definitely still didn’t have the same crush on Shiro. He made himself get over it. 

“Doesn’t matter. At the very least there is a high possibility that he has a thing for you _now._ ”

Keith waved her off and attempted to get a batch of shortbread cookies in the oven before the next rush hit. 

_________

The next few months ended up an utter blur and Keith couldn’t help but feel shocked every time Friday rolled around. Friday meant that Saturday was only a day away. And Saturday meant macarons. Fridays meant Keith had to prep ingredients and make filings and do all kinds of detailed prep work because once the shop opened on Saturday morning he never anticipated a full break until close.

Friday also meant that Keith got a double dose of Shiro within a twenty-four hour period. And that basically made it all worth it.

Because hearing Shiro say “Good morning, Keith” in his 7 A.M. semi-scratchy voice two days in a row had actually been addictive. 

Now, Shiro didn’t _have_ to get there at 7 A.M. on a Friday, and especially didn’t _have_ to get there at 7 A.M. on a Saturday, but he liked to chill and just talk with Keith, and sometimes Romelle, at one of the little coffee tables for a good thirty to forty-five minutes before he had to head off to work or the gym. Keith hadn’t been sure when this routine started, but seeing Shiro every Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays kind of made pushing through the busy work week worth it. 

Almost made Keith sad that he intentionally chose Sundays and Mondays for the shop to be closed. Almost. 

But the back-to-back Shiro visits on Saturdays made Keith perk up. Keith normally got to the shop a good four hours early every business day so that he could bake in peace. On Saturdays he opened at 10 A.M., which allowed him to sleep in since they opened at 6 A.M. during the week. Somewhere along the way Shiro ended up at the shop at 7 A.M. one Saturday morning and then the habit just kind of stuck. 

Keith had been pretty sure that it had been Romelle’s doing, possibly semi-joking as she invited Shiro over to be Keith’s taste tester for the gluten-free goods. Not telling Keith, of course. And so the very first time that Keith heard the knock of Shiro’s prosthetic on the glass doors at 7-ish A.M. on that fated Saturday, Keith nearly got pissed because “Oh my _god_ , we’re not open yet, fucker.” Customers who stopped by before they were even open really grated on his nerves. But once he saw Shiro’s dopey grin, slightly shy and still sleepy, Keith could only be so mad about it.

It had been _Shiro_ after all. 

Which is why, months later and now completely used to the routine, the soft rap of metal on glass caught Keith’s attention and after a quick glance at the time displayed on his wall-mounted tablet, Keith realized that Shiro had been running a bit late, and wiped off his hands.

In a swift motion, Keith vaulted himself over the front counter of the shop floor and trotted over to the wall of windows to unlock the front door. 

It still amazed Keith that Shiro swung by so early to begin with. Shiro claimed that if he had coffee and baked goods after a workout then he would be ruined for the rest of the morning, but before a workout had been much easer to push though. 

Keith had lightly chuckled when Shiro had first told him and thanked Shiro for his dedication to Keith’s shop. Shiro had blushed and stuttered out a “Sure thing.”

And now, as Keith weaved between the smattering of two-person tables in his bakery, he gave Shiro a small wave as he closed the distance to the front door. A conversion that they had about a two months prior pushed to the surface of Keith’s thoughts: Shiro had mentioned that the reason why he had been so excited about Keith’s gluten-free selection had largely been due to his wheat allergy, which meant a diet free of any food that contained wheat and other gluten-containing cereals. Shiro had reassured Keith that his allergy wasn’t _that bad_ and that if he ate a tiny trace amount of it he would be mostly fine, but if he ate a moderate amount, say a whole cookie, then it always had been a coin toss on how bad the symptoms were, and he didn’t like the risk of having an unexpected E.R. visit. 

Keith had nodded in understanding at that point and made an internal note to buy an industrial strength heat sanitizer for all his bakeware and utensils, just to be safe. He also went out that day and picked up a slab of quartz to use as a dedicated cutting board for all gluten-free baking, because even if Shiro hadn’t gotten sick from the possible trace amounts of gluten in his baking, that didn’t mean that others who were a lot more sensitive wouldn’t, and Keith hadn’t wanted to risk it.

It had been around then that Keith had brought up the fact that he had gone to university with a guy who was gluten sensitive. Keith had meant Shiro of course, but hadn’t said so because he wanted to see what would happen. Shiro’s eyes went wide as recognition hit him, and he ducked down a bit as he fiddled with his mug of coffee. He _vaguely_ remembered Keith from their shared class, and then profusely apologized for not recognizing him sooner. Keith had blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, saying that it had been a fairly large class and would have been surprised if Shiro _had_ remembered him. And Shiro, being the soft angle that he was, had reached across the small table and grasped Keith’s hand in his and said, “Well, I’m glad we found each other again.”

Keith hadn’t said anything about his old crush though. Keith had resolved to not say anything about that unless he got spurred by some drastic measures. Shiro didn’t need to know about his embarrassing crush.

And this is what Keith thought about as he tapped his smart watch over the lock on the front door of his bakery, the series of locking mechanisms clicking off. And he smiled, genuine and bright, at Shiro as the taller man slid into the warm building. Summer had attempted it’s one last hurrah a week ago and autumn had loudly arrived. But it had been then, in the utter quiet of 7:15 of a Saturday morning that Keith had been smacked with the realization that his old crush on Shiro indeed had gone away. 

And in its place something new and vibrant and truly encompassing stood strong. Keith saw Shiro as he was, not as the idolized version that everyone saw in college. Shiro had been nothing but purely human around Keith these past few months. And Keith ached with how much he cared for Shiro now. They had quickly become best friends, and Keith noticed that he wanted _more_. Keith almost felt blindsided with the revelation. It had crept up on him without his knowledge. But, like everything with Shiro, it didn’t make Keith mad. No, it had been the opposite of that. It had felt like a coming home, a comfort. 

Which is why when Keith had greeted Shiro that Saturday, a few days after Autumn started, the longing of wanting more of Shiro’s presence zipped though Keith. And it had just made sense that Keith felt the ache to see Shiro on Monday. 

They said their good mornings and Keith lead them over to the front counter to start the drip coffee. Romelle was much better at making drip coffee than Keith, but she didn’t get there until much later so Keith made due. 

As Keith slowly swiveled his hand and wrist over the drip setup, delicately pouring hot water over the grounds, he asked the question that had been burning in him for a few days. 

“Hey, Shiro?”

Sleepily the taller man looked up. He had pulled a chair over to the counter, head rested on his folded arms, and as he looked up at Keith, Keith’s breath caught. Even sleepy Shiro looked gorgeous. And Keith wanted more. Wanted to wake up to him. 

_Stop getting sidetracked,_ Keith thought. 

“Yeah?” Shiro asked. 

“What are you doing Monday night?”

Shiro plopped his head back down on one arm as he pulled out his phone, “Nothing, I think?” And then he nodded. “Yeah, my schedule is clear. Why?” A lopsided grin pulled at his lips as he placed his phone on the counter and rolled his head to get a better sightline to Keith’s face. “Are you asking me out?”

Keith’s hand jerked and his eyes shot over to meet Shiro’s, a bit nervous. “N-no? Not at all, why? No? I— uh. Recipe?” _Shit,_ Keith thought, _Does he know I like him?_

Shiro laughed and Keith had been surprised with how self-deprecating it sounded to his ears. “Ah, of course. You have a secret recipe that you are working on?”

Keith breathed out as he finished up the last bit of the water for the first cup of coffee. “It’s not a secret, but yeah I’m working on a few things. And I was wondering if you wanted to help me with the flavor profiles, since you seem to know the market here pretty well.” Keith had been happy that Romelle hadn’t been there to hear him say that. She would have screamed _I told you so!_

A bright smile bloomed across Shiro’s face. “I’d love to, Keith.”

_I’d love to._

Love. 

Keith tried to keep his hand steady and his wrist movement correct as he finished up their coffees. 

Keith didn’t notice that the smile didn’t _quite_ meet Shiro’s eyes.  


__________

It had been that simple.

That simple to start a new routine. A new habit. 

A new addiction. 

And it really had been easy. Oh so easy. 

Keith didn’t fight it. And it seemed Shiro didn’t either. 

Things started off with Shiro picking up some dinner for them that Monday night, even though Keith tried to fight him on it. (He didn’t fight very hard though, and Shiro laughed as he asked if Mediterranean was fine. Keith said it was.) 

“This feels like a date,” Keith told his cat, Red, that first night. “But it’s not. He’s just coming over to help me figure out a few new flavors. That’s it. He just offered to pick up dinner as a ‘thank you’ for all the sweets I’m about to shove his way. It’s only fair. Equivalent exchange. It’s not a date. Not a date. _Not_ a date.”

It hadn’t been a date. But it sure felt like one to Keith. (Secretly it felt like one to Shiro, as well.) 

After that things just continued. Soon they didn’t need the excuse of trying out new flavors or gluten-free items, because Keith just learned to accept that Shiro would just show up all by himself. 

Keith grew to expect a text (or seven) around 4:45 P.M. as they tried to figure out what they wanted for dinner. And then 6 P.M. would hit and Keith got into the habit of expecting Shiro soon after. A light ding would ring through Keith’s apartment, signaling that Shiro had arrived. Red would mew and paw at the doorknob, already trained to recognize Shiro. And Keith couldn’t blame her because after nearly two months of this this weekly visit, it had definitely become a pattern. 

And Keith loved it. 

He got to spend multiple hours with Shiro on Monday, and then a smattering of shorter visits throughout the week. It was nice. 

Really nice. 

And Keith had been pretty certain that Shiro at least thought it had been nice as well. They made time for each other easily. They fell together on the couch to watch movies easily, picking food out of the others takeout food container. Then later they would settle together, someone’s arm thrown over the back and the other person tucked right in the crook of their arm, bodies sharing the same blanket as it got colder. 

Winter came quicker than Keith expected and he had completely forgotten that he needed to make a new winter collection for the bakery. He always had a good portion of his repertoire change seasonally, to take advantage of the local ingredients. And well, with how often he had been hanging out with Shiro, Keith had (ironically) forgotten to put aside some time a few weeks previous to figure out his winter specials. 

So, at 10 P.M. on a Sunday night —because yes, they started hanging out during the weekends as well— Shiro sat on Keith’s living room floor, back pressed against the sofa, blanket wrapped around himself and video game controller in hand, quickly clicking at the joystick and D-pad. 

“Shit,” came Keith’s voice from about twenty feet away and Shiro quickly looked over his shoulder to peek in the direction of the kitchen. 

“You okay over there?”

“Yeah, I just nearly tripped over Red.”

The sound of Shiro sucking in breath filled the open concept living room and kitchen area. “Awww,” Shiro cooed as he divested himself of the blanket —the game paused— and made his way to the kitchen. “Did my baby get hurt?”

A bright blush flew across Keith’s face and he nearly stumbled again, this time with the baking tray in his hand, and it shook as he turned. “N-no,” and Keith gulped. “I’m fine?” _Baby?_ But Keith’s internal monologue got cut short as he looked over at Shiro. 

Shiro wore a similar blush, Red cradled in his arms on her back like a baby. “I, uh.” Shiro shifted. “I was talking to Red?” And then Shiro nervously coughed as Red happily chirped in his arms. 

“Well, fuck,” Keith lightly laughed as he put the cookie sheet down on the silicone potholders that littered his kitchen island. “Sorry, distracted. Is Red okay?”

“Oh,” Shiro looked down at the black cat in his arms, her eyes closed as she purred loudly. A small chuckle escaped Shiro’s lips as he scratched the cat on the back of her neck. “Yeah, I think she’ll live.” Shiro rounded the island and leaned against it with his hip. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been baking all day. I kinda feel bad just hanging out here and not helping at all.”

“You’ve helped a lot. You told me that my last three banana breads tasted like shit.”

Shiro chuckled. “Happy to help however you need me.” Keith missed the shy glance that Shiro had directed his way, honey eyes peaking though his white bangs. “What about those?”

“The handpies need a bit to cool before we try them,” Keith said as he leaned across the island to reach for the cooling racks, but came up a bit short, fingertips just barely grazed them. 

“Here,” Shiro said as he put Red down and grabbed the racks. “let me help you put them on the racks at least.”

The blush that had started to clear from Keith’s face started to creep back. “Thanks. You don’t have to. These might not even be that good.”

“Keith, everything you make is delicious.”

Keith barked out a surprised laugh. “You know that’s a damn lie.”

“Name one thing.”

“Well, those breads from like three hours ago?” Shiro laughed at being called out. “Those rhubarb cookies from the summer? Those were atrocious.”

“Well...”

Keith laughed again, “Told you so!”

“Yeah, well the cookies turned out in the end! It just took you a few tries.”

“Yes, Shiro, _twenty-three_ is ‘a few.’” And Keith tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, it had escaped the black beanie that he wore. Shiro’s eyes tracked the movement, his fingers twitched. 

“What can I say, you’re dedicated.” Shiro turned to the sink built into the island. He needed something to do with his hands so he started washing dishes.

“You mean: I’m a stubborn ass.” Keith rounded the other side of the island so that he could talk to Shiro over the water spray.

Shiro laughed. “You don’t back down from a challenge. It’s what I love about yo—”

A loud snap and cracking sound filled the apartment right before the power flicked out. 

“Fuck,” Keith whispered under his breath as he reached for his cell phone on the kitchen island. 

“Here,” Shiro said as he quickly toweled his hands dry and then handed Keith his phone, “you’re gonna check the breaker?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, I’m gonna check with the neighbors.”

It took them about half an hour and Keith even reset all of the breaker fuses for his apartment, but it looked like the power had definitely gone out. 

“The whole block?” Keith asked, exasperated.

“That’s what Hunk from a few doors down said. And it looks like the online map from the power company confirms it. They estimate late tomorrow before they get to this area. The whole upper west end got smothered with snow and something blew, the grid couldn’t handle it.”

“Fuck,” Keith mumbled as he slumped onto the couch, kicking his legs over the armrest. “At least I don’t have much that’s perishable in the fridge anymore.”

“Yeah, you baked it all away. Small mercies?” Shiro leaned over and tapped Keith’s legs. “Here, let me sit.” And with a smooth motion he slid under Keith’s legs and threw one arm over the back of the couch. 

Keith resettled but didn’t move off Shiro’s lap, doing his damn best to regulate his heartbeat because _shit that was just so casually hot_. “I didn’t realize that it was gonna get this bad tonight. I expected, like, an inch, if that.”

“Yeah, even Allura’s uncle’s SUV can’t get through.” And then Shiro got quiet as he fiddled with the hem of Keith’s pant leg. “Do you mind if I stay the night?”

Keith pushed himself up on his forearms. “Shiro. Of _course_ you’re staying the night. I’m not gonna kick you out.” 

A semi self-depreciating laugh left Shiro’s lips. “Yeah, I figured. I just wanted to make sure.”

Keith squinted, unbelieving. “Shiro, what’s up? You don’t sound sure.” And Keith pulled himself up onto his knees. 

“Nothing, just tired. Good thing I don’t have work tomorrow now,” Shiro said as he rolled his shoulders back and slumped into the couch. 

Keith still hadn’t been convinced, but he wasn’t going to push the subject right now. He and Shiro had become so close, but the last thing he wanted to do was Shiro uncomfortable. Keith only tried to take as much as Shiro had been willing to give, and not a bit more. Even if he wanted more. He wanted so much with Shiro. 

“Okay. Hey, you think you have enough energy to help me pack up my cornucopia of baking? Then we can get ready for bed, old timer?”

Keith tried so hard to keep the waver out of his voice at the implication of getting ready for bed. With Shiro.

A small grin tugged at Shiro’s lip, “Anything for you, you punk.” And Shiro pulled himself up with a groan and a small, playful smack to Keith’s folded legs. All these casual touches were gonna kill Keith if they continued throughout the night and into the morning. But at least Keith would die happy.

They spent more time squabbling over where Shiro would sleep than they spent actually packing the vast assortment of baked goods that Keith had made. But in the end Shiro grumpily agreed that due to many factors, namely the lack of central heating in the building because of the power outage, it made the most sense for them to share Keith’s bed. After all, they were big boys, they could handle it. (Keith most certainly could handle it. He most certainly could handle it. He could.)

They got ready for bed to the best of their ability given the circumstances, with cell phones propped up on shelves, the flashlight function turned on and pointed at odd angles so that they still had light where they needed it but also didn’t blind themselves. 

The process ended up being pretty painless, until Keith snorted so hard at a dumb joke that Shiro made that Keith got toothpaste _into_ his nose. No amount of water had been able to wash away the minty freshness that his nose now felt. 

Shiro had said sorry, in between bouts of laughter, and at one point had to actually hold on to Keith to support himself because he ended up laughing too hard. The feeling of Shiro’s large and very sturdy body draped over him, chest heaving, hands gripped on Keith’s night shirt. Keith loved it all. Keith desperately wanted it in a different context though. But he hadn’t been about to tell Shiro that. 

Especially when Shiro had been wearing some of the tightest night clothes on the face of the planet: a black t-shirt that just barely fit the breath of his shoulders, “wear black or stay naked” scrawled across the chest, and a pair of black drop-crotch joggers that were supposed to be stylishly oversized on a normal person but that fit awfully snuggly on Shiro. Keith tried to _not_ think about how Shiro ended up going naked in the joggers since Keith didn’t have any underwear that fit. 

Keith also tried not to think about the fact that Shiro actually did try on a pair of his underwear, and then sheepishly came back to Keith saying that everything fit, except for the boxer briefs. Keith hoped the power came back on before too long, because the idea of Shiro lounging around his apartment the following day with _no underwear_ while wearing Keith’s clothes did _things_ to Keith and he drew the line at having a constant boner around his best friend. Better to throw Shiro’s clothes in the wash as soon as they had the chance. (Well, “better.”)

Keith definitely tried not to think about Shiro’s lack of underwear when they slid into bed. About how Keith could just reach out the few inches away and grab Shiro’s dick. About how, more than likely, some part of Keith would accidentally graze past Shiro’s dick during the night. Keith tried so hard not to think about any of that. 

They said their good nights, all muffled and soft against the pillows, almost like they had been sharing secrets with each other. And really, maybe they had. 

Keith looked up at Shiro with half laden eyes, gently succumbing to the gentle pull of sleep, and Keith loved the sight. Shiro, laying on his side, right arm pushed under the pillow, tuft of white hair falling into his eyes. And Keith couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and pushed the hair away, fingers following the jut and curve of Shiro’s strong jaw. 

Internally, Keith blamed it on how tired he had been and how close and intimate this all felt. Like a spell had been placed on them in this very moment, and if Keith mentioned it, said anything at all, then it all would have been broken. 

And so he didn’t. Keith didn’t wish Shiro another good night, even though he really want to, even though he _ached_ to do it again. 

He just let his hand drift farther down the slope of Shiro’s neck, past his adam’s apple where he could feel the flex of the muscle and skin as Shiro swallowed, followed farther down past the jut of Shiro’s collar bone until his hand landed on the mattress with a soft plop.

“Keith.” It had come out like a whisper, a prayer on Shiro’s lips. And Keith. Keith ached for more. So he closed the small distance and fiddled with the fabric of Shiro’s shirt that had bunched up near the collar. 

Keith blinked and tilted his head. “Yeah?”

Keith nearly stopped breathing. There could have been so many thing that Shiro could’ve said at this very moment. And Keith would’ve happily accepted any of it. 

“Thank you for letting me stay here. With you.”

Keith scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. Shiro’s tone had been so sad. Almost like he still thought that Keith had any intention of kicking him out in the snow. In the cold. 

Keith could never do that. Shiro was too important. Much too important. 

“Of course. I would never kick you out.” And then Keith added, “I love spending time with you, Shiro. You know that, right?”

A small, self-deprecating laugh left Shiro’s lips. “That’s one thing that always amazes me about you Keith: You never make me feel like a burden. Not once. I feel like I ask so much of you: so much of your time, of your skills. You have expanded your entire business because I asked you to. You bake so many gluten-free things now. I never expected this, such kindness. And what do I offer in return? I taste your food. That’s it.”

Keith was taken aback. “Shiro,” He breathed out. “Shiro, you are my _best friend_.” And Keith paused. “I— was this what you were sad about earlier? When you asked to stay the night? Were you worried that you were _bothering_ me?”

“Yeah? Kind of?”

“Shiro,” It came out so soft, so breathless that even Keith hadn’t been sure that he had said it. “Shiro. No one is forcing me to do _anything_. No one _can_ force me to do anything. I do all of this because I love you, Shiro.” And Keith paused at the realization of what he had said.

Shiro blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Keith whispered out. “And I think you love me too? At least I think so? I heard something right before the power went out. And, I know it’s kind of weird for me to say it, we aren’t even dating, but I do. I’ve loved you since I first met you, all those years ago, back in college. It had been a different love then, more out of admiration. I loved the idea of you, I wanted to _be_ you. But then time passed and I grew up. I grew out of that love. And that’s fine. Because it shifted into something so raw and emotional, and kind and selfish.” Shiro reached for Keith’s hand that lay on the mattress between them. “Shiro. You have taught me so much. You have given me some good advice. And, if you want, we could, you know.” And Keith petered off as he played with Shiro’s fingers. 

Shiro inhaled and then on the exhale, pulled Keith toward himself with the hand that Keith had been playing with. It had been a little awkward, but they shifted a bit and Keith laid his head on Shiro’s chest, tucked into the taller man’s side with Shiro’s right arm draped across his back, fingertips resting on the nape of Keith’s neck. 

Shiro breathed in as he nuzzled into Keith’s hair. “Is this okay?” He asked, more of a murmur than anything. 

Keith snuggled in farther and draped his leg over Shiro’s. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

And then they were quiet for a bit, just breathing in tandem, with Shiro’s thumb brushing over the knot on the back of Keith’s neck. 

Until Shiro spoke.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Keith turned his face to look up at Shiro, eyes heavy with sleep. And Shiro continued. 

“Thank you for being you, Keith. For accepting me for who I am. For fiercely believing and loving so unabashedly.”

“Sounds more like you’re talking about yourself there.”

“And,” Shiro started as he tipped Keith’s chin up a bit more so he could look right into Keith’s eyes, “thank you for returning my affections and sharing my crush. It feels nice.”

“It feels _nice_?” Keith asked, a teasing lit to his tone and a smirk pulled at his lip. 

Shiro chuckled, deep in his chest, and Keith felt the aftershocks of it as it shot through him. He loved it. “You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?”

It had been Keith’s turn to laugh. “Romelle says that I don’t. Supposedly I’m impossible.”

“Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” And then Shiro placed a soft kiss to the top of Keith’s head. “Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna be impossible together?”

Keith pulled himself up a bit, arm rested on Shiro’s chest. “Takashi Shirogane, are you asking me out?” An echo of the exact question that Shiro had asked Keith months ago.

“No,” and a smirk tugged as Shiro’s lips. “I’m asking you if you want to be my boyfriend.”

Keith laughed as he shook his head. “I guess the only logical answer is ‘yes,’ then.”

__________

Keith woke up the next morning to a warm weight pressed against his torso. The feeling of Shiro’s arm tight around him, of their chests pressed together, of the way that Shiro basically clung to him. It felt good. It felt right. It felt complete. 

And so, with that, Keith had been able to add one more item to the ever growing list of things that he knew. After all, Keith knew the most common recipes for scones, both glutenous and gluten-free; Keith knew why his macarons had became such a huge hit; and lastly Keith knew why everything had been so easy with Shiro. Because Shiro liked him as well. And Keith had no intention of letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> A note about Shiro being gluten intolerant! There is a difference between what he has in this fic and celiac disease. I have friends and family members who are celiac, and the tldr is NO GLUTEN AT ALL (even trace amounts!!) or they will have severe reactions. So that part where Keith bought a sanitizer and new kitchen wear and shit? He was doing that so that he could really call those baked items gluten-free! 
> 
> _______
> 
> I mostly just scream about sheith.  
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/kaisernoire) | [Website](Http://www.kaisernoire.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Space Buns (The Gluten-Free Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774739) by [stardropdream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream)




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